Loose Cannons
by Seesigh
Summary: Damned if you do, bored if you don't. Dead either way. [eventual Marlene McKinnon & Sirius Black]


(A/N: This chapter is weird but it's supposed to be. The majority of the story takes place in the First Wizarding War around Adult Marlene, but I'm including a few flashbacks here & there because it gives interesting glimpses of whats to come plus you get to see Young Bratty Marlene in this chapter who was _wicked_ fun to write. Thanks for reading!)

**October, 1975 **

Marlene McKinnon received her third P for Poor on an assignment for Potions class in-a-row.

Her natural inability for Potions amused Marlene in her first years at Hogwarts. It was supposed to be her best subject, but she'd never been invited to Slug Club, other than the first time Horace Slughorn laid eyes on the young witch. For good reason: she was never one to follow strict instructions. She took an immature sense of pride in it.

After she slipped the wrinkled parchment in-between the pages of her textbook, Marlene began to vacate the dark, spacy classroom. The majority of her classmates already left, but a few stragglers remained, like her. But before she could leave, the Potions professor blocked her exit with his wide body. He was preparing to exit through the door, but her commanding presence did not go unnoticed, and he spoke to her.

"Your marks are most curious, Ms. McKinnon. Most curious," said Slughorn.

Marlene towered over the short, round-bellied man by nearly a foot. Craning her neck downwards, she replied, "I'm sorry, professor, but I don't see what's so curious about it. Seems to me I'm just rubbish at Potions 's'all."

"Your brothers were some of the best students I've taught during my time here at Hogwarts," he told her. The balding man adjusted his elaborate waist coat, idly.

She smirked. "If you're saying I'm not like my older brothers, then I'll take that as a compliment, sir."

"Yes, well…I suppose not all students with the disposition share talent or ambition in equal measure," said Slughorn matter-of-factly, although not cruelly.

Marlene gaped. Her freckles disappeared momentarily under the cover of warm, pink heat. A group of eavesdroppers snickered behind her.

"I…" she stammered, her quick-wit escaping her tongue.

He seemed surprised by her persisting company. "Hm, yes? Oh, goodbye, Ms. McKinnon. Have a nice day." Slughorn walked through the door, passing through the corridor.

The sound of snickers erupted into laughter. The witch turned around, and faced the group of Ravenclaws who watched her exchange with amusement. She frowned.

"That's rough, McKinnon," one of the boys assured her. He glanced down at her bare legs for too long, raking his sight to her chest before finally bringing his eyes back to hers.

"Do I _know_ you lot?" She spat coldly, glaring. Marlene did not take humiliation well, especially in the company of pompous Ravenclaws.

The wizards and witches shifted uncomfortably in silence.

She approached them like a lion stalking its prey, using her height and scowling face as means of intimidation. "That's what I thought. Now _leave_. And if you say one word about this to _anyone_, I'll jinx you each so terribly that not even Madam Pompfrey will be able to sort you out."

It was an empty threat, but Marlene didn't need gossipy classmates spreading rumors about her academic letdowns. Not that she cared.

They scattered quickly, tripping over each other in a hurry. She thought she heard a whispered 'bitch' from the boy who leered at her.

The girl released a sigh. "Merlin, people are so rude," she said airily to the vacant room. Slinging her school bag more securely around her shoulder, she left the Dungeons in hopes of enjoying her break period.

Had it not been for the condescension in Slughorn's tone, Marlene wouldn't have given a toss about her failures of late. But things were personal now; her dignity was on the line.

On that day she declared two things for herself.

One, she would _not_ fail Potions, and not only that, she would succeed in qualifying for the course sixth year by passing the O.W.L requirement.

And two, she loathed Horace Slughorn, despite his amiableness.

Not even her unbreakable string of Os in both Defense Against the Dark Arts and Astronomy, or her personal success as a beater on the Quidditch team, could make up for her rotten mood.

She decided to blow off some steam in the only non-self-destructive way she knew of.

When she finally left the castle, she made her way towards the Blake Lake, crossing over the open, grassy field. The weather was lovely, and the courtyards were packed with students taking full advantage of the sun.

Half-way through her journey, Marlene caught sight of the other fifth year Gryffindor girls, who sat together in a large circle on the ground. They chatted animatedly, completely entranced with one another. The sound of their bright laughter rang in the air, drawing attention from several boys, especially Gryffindors in the same year.

Her eyes swept over the group, but she did not join them. A pretty girl stopped in the midst of her conversation to give her a small, but strong nod of recognition. The girl's companion gave her a glare instead. Marlene returned Lily Evans' friendly gesture, ignoring the other one, and continued her own way.

Lily had monopolized the girls in the dorm with her kind, caring spirit and vivacious personality. It was impossible not to love the redheaded witch.

Although Marlene McKinnon respected Lily Evans (and deep down quite liked the girl), they never struck friendship. Lily found Marlene too arrogant, and Marlene found Lily too self-righteous. Clashing opinions and tempers stopped them from connecting in a meaningful way. But she had never managed to connect to anyone at Hogwarts on a deeper lever.

Marlene felt like a perpetual outsider amongst the peppy, smiling girls, although it was mostly due to her own efforts. She could match their liveliness when her mood allowed, but Marlene was the solitary type: a foreign concept in the social Gryffindor dorms. Or at least she'd become more solitary in the past year, by choice.

The young witch couldn't count the number of times her attitude unintentionally caused tension and rows with her dormmates. Eventually, Marlene got tired of the constant misunderstandings, and distancing herself from the drama, which lead to unresolved resentment on the other side.

Pent up emotions didn't bubble over in the fourth week of the school term—they _exploded_.

She was supposed to study in the library with Juliet Tinley before dinner. Her sometimes-mate was sweet, but frustratingly meticulous. They agreed on a time and place, but Quidditch practice was _brutal_ and Marlene skipped out of the meeting, choosing instead to fill her stomach in the kitchens.

At dinner there was no sign of trouble. Marlene apologized and Tinley accepted it, albeit coldly. It was back in the dorms when all hell broke loose. Tinley flung weeks' worth of evidence regarding her dormmate's aloof behavior, and hurtful words were fired from both sides. Marlene took back her apology, and Tinley cried.

But when Marlene told the weeping girl to cast a Cheering Charm on herself, or to transfigure some tissue-paper because she was _not_ apologizing for something so bloody trivial, she sealed her fate.

Dorcas Meadows called her an 'unfeeling snarky bitch', the rest of the girls practically applauded with agreement, and not even Lily, the mediator of the group, could excuse her behavior.

She spent the majority of fifth year alone, so far.

With no time to stop off at the dormitory, Marlene paused by a bush near the lake. She folded up her black robes and stuffed them in her massive leather satchel. Her grey v-neck knitted jumper was casually thrown over her shoulder (as it was far too hot to wear it on the unusually warm autumn day) and her pleated skirt was too short due to a recent growth spurt, but Marlene hadn't cared to buy new ones out of laziness. She tied up her long hair that was more frizz than curl in the humidity.

The gold and scarlet tie hung loosely around her neck, almost falling off, because she was a girl, and some girls looked ridiculous in the formal neck attire. Unfortunately she was Marlene McKinnon and not Marlene Dietrich, and the thin-striped tie did not fall flatly and modestly on her chest when done up right. Instead, it hung awkwardly and bounced off her bust when she walked. It might have been a positive to a girl wanting to grab notice of the male student body.

Marlene was not that girl.

The onslaught of new attention brought on by her sudden matured looks had left her revolted and untrusting of the intentions of the opposite sex. At first, the power she held over boys fed her ego, and flirtations had been fresh, harmless thrills. But shortly after novelty wore off, replacing her initial sense of empowerment with burden and constant obstacles. They forced her to be defensive, and Marlene had always preferred to play offense. It was safe to say she held a low opinion of men in general.

Her destination in mind had no professors, no girls _or_ boys. In fact, that was perhaps why it was one of her favorite places on the Hogwarts grounds.

Marlene approached a weeping willow that stood a few meters away from the Black Lake's cool, dark water. It was a massive tree, stuck between rows of similar ones. The leaves were tinted yellow from autumn, but maintained most of their greenness. Her hands split the wispy branches, and she sat down by its thick, wooden base. The treetop provided shade, but golden sunbeams split through the cracks.

Humming to herself, the young witch pulled out an abundant amount of art supplies from her bag, including a sketch pad and colored pencils. She sketched for a long time. Although magical artwork was grand and captivating, Marlene preferred Muggle art by far. There was something satisfying about the lack of distractions on paper. It all came from _her_ mind out of _her_ hand: no credit to a wand necessary.

Quicker than she wished, Marlene grew restless. She envied her classmates in Muggle Art who could lose themselves in their work and never get bored; she always felt edgy, even in the most peaceful spot in the world. Her drawing of the landscape was a third complete when she scribbled over it viciously, and threw the pad of paper away like a time-bomb. Her fingertips dug into her scalp.

A walk, she needed a walk.

Ten minutes later, she was staring out at the Black Lake as if she was lobotomized.

At first she stopped to admire the view. Now she was having an losing argument against the voice in her head that told her to jump in—not to kill herself for Merlin's sake— but because there was no good reason not to. It was hot. It looked fun. Why not?

Her thoughts were interrupted.

"It's just McKinnon."

Suddenly, she was aware of the five teenage boys approaching her from behind. Marlene turned around steadily, and met their familiar eyes. They were in the same school year, and although she knew some better than others, all recognizable.

"Which one?" asked Mulciber, the unofficial leader of the group of Slytherin boys.

Wilkes replied, "The bird."

They surrounded the witch, invading her personal space. She wanted to shout at them to leave, but that wasn't the correct way to deal with the situation. Showing their effect on her would be taken as weakness, so she was forced to meet them head on with similar coldness. Marlene crossed her arms, and her face remained stoical, feigning boredom.

"Why're you always wandering about alone?" asked Mulciber.

There was a permanent smarminess about the tall, well-built boy. His robes were immaculate, and the oil in his hair coiffed his brunette waves perfectly. Marlene would have considered him handsome, had it not for the ruthlessness in his dark-blue eyes.

"Don't you have any mates, McKinnon?" added Avery, grinning cruelly.

If Mulciber was the leader, then he was second-in-command. They shared the same pretension and twisted sense of humor. The gauntness of his face was exacerbated by his butch cut, and his teeth were white, but razor-sharp when he smiled, like a shark.

Wilkes snickered, and the others awaited her response with sadistic delight.

Only Severus Snape seemed disinterested in the exchange, but he stood silently beside the group and watched on. Marlene wanted to sneer at the sullen, hook-nosed boy with long, greasy black hair. His apparent affection for Lily Evans was one of the many arguments the two girls shared. He was involved in the Darks Arts and Mulciber's mate. Lily was Muggle-born. Marlene didn't understand how the girl could be friends with him.

The witch glared with hatred. She held her silver-tongue, but it was getting harder. "Fuck off."

Avery raised a dark eyebrow. "I'll take that as a no."

Wilkes snickered once more, and it took all the strength she had not to slap the laughter off his plain, vacant-looking face. He never said much, but he was just as dangerous as the others, regardless of his outward dim-wittedness.

"I can be your mate," Evan Rosier offered, innuendo heavy in his tone.

Marlene's icy façade slipped for a second, and she rolled her eyes, spitefully. Rosier was a mistake she'd made her fourth year. Marlene didn't regret losing her virginity at the tender age of fourteen. (Not that she was proud of it, either.) But she did regret her fling with the roguish blonde. She never felt like more of a pathetic clique when she was charmed by his good looks and smooth words, only to find out later that he was just as prejudiced and entitled as everyone told her Slytherin lads were. Her dormmates never let her forget that one. And Rosier never did either; propositioning her occasionally when ran out of girls to shag, for the moment.

Mulciber continued, taking a quick look around the empty surroundings. "It's no wonder you're out here by yourself, the stench of Mudbloods in your house must be revolting."

Marlene lost her cool, unable to maintain her nonchalance. "Don't _dare_ talk to me like I'm one of you," she spat. "I'm _nothing_ like you lot. I'd choose to be alone my whole life instead of in your company for a minute."

She said her piece, and that was her opportunity to leave, and walk away from further conflict. Her pride and passion kept her anchored to the spot.

"I shall talk to you anyway I _please_," threatened Mulciber, his face dark.

"What's got your knickers in a twist?" Rosier cut in, saving her from the other boy's cold wrath. "You've been uptight ever since school started. Good shag is what you need. I'm always here for you, love."

Marlene scoffed. "Aren't I the luckiest girl in the world?"

"You know where the dungeon is," he said seductively, missing her biting sarcasm completely. His hand combed his sleek, dark-blonde hair out of his green eyes.

"Of course, how else would I avoid it?"

Avery studied her, and then said, "You've got a mouth on you, McKinnon." He exchanged glances with Mulciber, and they silently agreed on something only known to them.

Mulciber smirked, searching for the wand in his trouser pocket. "Would you like to see new spell? I think it'll suit you well."

Wilkes snickered.

"What's it called, Severus?" asked Avery, wearing a similar look of vindictiveness.

"Langlock," replied Snape, his voice lacking any discernible emotion.

Rosier gave her a strange sympathetic look. That surprised her. He was uneasy, but unwilling to stop his mates.

Her hand went for her wand, only to discover that she left it under the tree. Marlene could have laughed. Maybe she should've jumped in the lake after all.

"McKinnon!" shouted a voice.

They all turned their attention to a boy jogging towards them.

He was taller than her (the same height as Mulciber) and lanky, and his face was pleasing in an ordinary sort of way. Marlene immediately recognized him as Benjy Fenwick; he was a fifth year Hufflepuff in her Herbology class.

"Who are you?" asked Rosier without hesitation.

"It doesn't matter," Benjy told him shortly, placing a hand on Marlene's shoulder. "Professor McGonagall needs to see you," he claimed strongly, and looked around at the other wizards. "_Now._"

When she didn't move, the boy grabbed her upper arm and led her way.

"All right, all right, _I'm coming_."

Marlene protested slightly, shifting against his grasp, but inwardly she was giving Benjy Fenwick a million kisses. The bloke had great timing.

Mulciber's gang could only watch them go, and their helplessness made her giddy with victory. There was no way they would jeopardize themselves by performing whatever nasty jinx planned for her. Not when she was on the way to see the Transfiguration professor and there was a witness.

She wanted to stick her tongue out, but settled with a mock saccharine tone, saying, "_Bye-bye, boys._"'

The two could barely hear the mumbling of the others when they began discussing Fenwick. Someone threw the word at him, but she couldn't tell who.

"_What_ did you call him?!" she growled ferally, trying to twist back.

But Benjy prevented her. "Leave it," he whispered intensely in her ear. A shiver ran down her spine.

"Ow, quit manhandling me," she complained with attitude, unable to shrug his strong grip off.

"Sorry," he apologized, but retained his hold, and pulled her farther and farther away from the group of Slytherins.

"It was _one_ assignment," Marlene grumbled, more to herself than her companion after a brief silence. "I didn't turn in one 'major' assignment and she sends a bloke after me like I'm a bloody outlaw. Crazy old bat." A sudden thought sprung to her head. "Wait, I need to get my stuff. My bag and robes."

"Where?" asked Benjy, briskly.

She pointed in the distance. "The weeping willow, the one over there."

He looked skeptically. "I don't see anything."

Marlene snorted. "That's the _point_. Or do the thick leaves have you thinking otherwise?...Look, I'm not going to make a mad dash for it and have you chasing me across the quad, Fenwick. So why don't we just walk over there, together?"

Benjy nodded with agreement. "Yeah, ok." He released her arm, and the two made long strides towards the location. It took them a handful minutes to get there.

Marlene passed through the draping branches, and Benjy followed her example. He checked out the idyllic hiding place while she gathered her belongings, which were messily sprawled on the grass.

Breaking the long silence, she casually asked, "What'd McGonagall say?"

"I'm sorry?"

"The professor…how angry is she?" inquired Marlene, distractedly, packing up her supply of colored pencils. "You got to give me a heads up, Fenwick. I can't walk into a battle field unprepared, y'know."

"She's not angry," he told her, kicking his feet with boredom.

Marlene almost dropped her books. "That _can't_ be right. If she needs to see me, she's _proper_ heated."

"The professor doesn't need to see you."

"What are you talking—"

"It looked tense back there," he cut in. Marlene's face lit with realization. "I was meeting my mates to play football and I passed by and you looked like you could use a hand…so…yeah."

Marlene scoffed. "Thanks for your concern, but I can handle myself. I can flick my own wand and everything." She didn't mention the fact that she was wandless.

He stared at her with disbelief. "There was five of them, and only one of you."

"Wilkes can barely hold his wand straight, so I'd say it was more like four-against-one." Her eyes warily trailed her unlikely companion. "Are you ok, Fenwick?"

Benjy was confused. "Yeah…I'm fine," he said, baffled. "Shouldn't I be asking _you_ that?"

She snorted, and her face lit up with proud defiance. "They don't scare me," she boasted, but quickly dismissed her response. Her voice became soft, much softer than she usually allowed it. "What they said about you…calling you a, you know…it's vile. I'm sorry it happened to you."

"It's not the first time I've been called a Mudblood, McKinnon."

"There never should've been a first."

Benjy smiled a bit. "No, but that's the way it is."

"Doesn't it bother you?" She had to ask.

"Of course."

Now it was Marlene's turn to be left perplexed. Her arms crossed over her chest, and she asked him, "Then why didn't you do anything?—why didn't you fight back?"

The boy's jaw set, involuntarily. His good-natured face steeled. "You mean other than the impossible odds?" He approached the witch, standing in front of her, but there was nothing hostile about his attitude, despite his directness. "For you fighting them is to uphold moral ideals. For me, it's the same, but I'm also fighting for my survival. You get a choice, but I don't. I have to pick my battles, or risk losing _everything_." He paused to let the words sink in, and continued when she said nothing. "So when you ask me why I don't do anything, don't assume it's because I don't want to. I'd _love_ to knock those twats off their high-horse—_believe me_—but sometimes it's not worth it."

Marlene made an apologetic gesture. "Sorry. I didn't mean for it to be taken as an accusation. I was just curious, is all," she said genuinely, offering a sign of peace. "I don't know what it's like to experience things the way you do."

"It's all right."

Although Benjy wasn't insulted, he made his leave when Marlene failed to continue the conversation. She watched him walk away in silence, her sight lingering on the back of his white buttoned shirt that contrasted sharply against his dark skin.

"Er, Fenwick?" She called out impulsively, and gained his attention.

He spun around calmly. "Yeah?"

Marlene licked her bottom lip. "…Thanks. You helped me today, in more than one way."

He nodded, shortly, and she gave him a small parting smile. Benjy looked fleetingly at his group of mates, all dressed in identical black and yellow striped ties. The cluster of boys took curious glances at the two, every now and then. Marlene was shocked when he came back, joining her under the cover of the weeping willow's branches, but her face remained impassive.

"You know, you don't have to try so…" He trailed off, and rubbed the side of his face. "…nevermind." He thought better of it.

But the girl assertively blocked his passage. She wasn't going to let him head off that easily, not when he clearly had something to say about her. "No, let's hear what you have to say."

"You don't have to try so hard to prove something to everyone."

"_Sorry?" _She fired aggressively, diving into the exchange with her fists raised.

Benjy sighed, and seemed to regret bringing it up in the first place. "Forget it."

He took a step, but she grabbed his shoulder and turned him around to face her. "No, no, wait. I didn't mean to jump your throat. I reckon I'm not used to brutal honesty lacking spite, but I like it, I like it _a lot_." She smoothed down a rebellious curl that fell from her tied hair. "So if you want, I'd listen to whatever you were going to say."

Releasing her grasp, she allowed him some space, and waited for his response. She expected him to leave; she couldn't blame him.

"You walk around with a chip on your shoulder," he said without delay. "There's no need to prove you're not one of them. Everyone knows you're not a Death Eater in-training. I mean, you're a Gryffindor and everything. It's pretty dumb to engage Mulciber's gang, especially alone."

"No offense, but you don't know _anything_ about pureblood politics," she said frankly, but without malice. "Or why I act the way I do, for that matter."

A gust of warm wind swept through the air, blowing the leaves into a uniform of spindly, green waves. The sound of flipping parchment stole her concentration, and Marlene sauntered to her open satchel. After securing her books and sketch pad, she remained seated underneath the protection of the sheltering tree. She leant against it, back-to-wood.

"Enlighten me?" asked Benjy, his boyish voice suddenly in her ear. He was sitting down next to her, a respectful distance away.

Her naturally alert, determined eyes filled with suspicion. "Really?"

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to know." He flashed her an encouraging smile.

His patience and good-will mystified her, but she found herself returning it, for whatever reason. "I'm a McKinnon," Marlene started, flicking the grass that tickled her fingers. "I know that doesn't mean anything to you, but it means a hell of a lot in the world I'm from. My family's traditionally sorted into Slytherin. Not always. I have two older brothers that were in Ravenclaw. And my little brother is also in Gryffindor; he's a second year."

"I don't see the problem, to be honest. I mean, yeah, being sorted in Slytherin's one thing…but it doesn't say everything about a person's character," he proclaimed diplomatically. "Look at me, I'm a Hufflepuff and I once cheated in chess when my sister wasn't looking."

That made her grin, but she flattened it out, swiftly. "It has more to do with my House alliance…actually, it has everything to do with alliances."

"Alliances…?" He questioned, taking an interest.

Marlene smirked haughtily. "You _do_ know there's a war going on outside the lush, picturesque grounds of Hogwarts? More than most people I reckon, being a Muggle-born and all."

Benjy shrugged. "It's the first time I've heard of House alliances. What's that about?"

She leant back harder, releasing a dramatic sigh. Her fingers pinched the bridge of her nose. "How do I explain this to you in a way you'll understand…Right, so there are Houses that come from magical lineages. Some of these lineages never had children with Muggles—or at least that's what they'll tell you, they're lying by the way—and that means their magical blood isn't intermixed with non-magical people. Or at least not prominently." Marlene took a needed breath."Lestranges, Malfoys, Blacks, Gaunts, and others…Those lot call themselves traditionalists and purists, but they're supremacists to the bone. You know this already, though. They're supporters of Voldemort and his merry band of ghastly Death Eaters."

Benjy flinched involuntarily.

"Sorry," she apologized. Her hand reached out to touch him, maybe to give a comforting pat, but she withdrew it. "I meant You-Know-Who."

"S'all right."

"Now on the other hand, we have pure-blooded Houses that defy purist ideals and their propaganda…You know James Potter, yeah? Skinny bloke with glasses, messy hair, fat gob?"

"It'd be hard not to," he confirmed with light humor.

She snorted. "I know, right? He's on the Qudditch team with me; he's always stealing my bloody thunder. _Git._ Anyway, he's a pure-blood, like the others, but he and his family don't share those prejudices. Just like Prewetts, Longbottoms, Weasleys…Purists call them blood-traitors. I'm sure you've heard the term thrown around. There's a division between purists and blood-traitors, it's been like that for ages." Marlene's brow furrowed, and she frowned. "But with this war…everything's changed. The fighting has extended within the Houses. Everyone's tearing at each other like hungry dogs."

"Which are you?" asked Benjy.

She snapped out of her heavy thoughts. "'m sorry?"

"You're a blood-traitor, I reckon?"

"Neither."

"_Neither_?" He repeated sternly. A dangerous fire lit behind his usual warm, friendly, brown eyes.

"My _House_ is neither," she clarified with stress. "My parents aren't murderers, but they would not surrender their family to stop it from happening. McKinnons…they're apathetic, especially when it comes to blood purity."

The wizard gazed at her watchfully. The intensity made Marlene's face hot. "You're not apathetic," he told her decisively.

She shrugged with unease. "I don't want to be."

"I'd say you're a blood traitor," Benjy claimed, grinning at her. She returned it, faintly. "I give you the Muggle-born seal of approval…so a bit like that Black fellow, you are," he drew to conclusion.

Marlene's smile fell, and she sneered. "Please don't compare me to that bloke. I don't really know Sirius Black; his politics are all in the right place, but I know he can be a right cunt. And our families are _nothing_ alike."

There was an awkward silence before Benjy broke it. "So let me get this straight: You start fights with Mulciber and Avery and the rest of them just so everyone knows you…care?" He succinctly summarized, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't start fights. Usually. I finished them. Sometimes. But thanks for making me sound stupid," said Marlene, rolling her eyes.

"You make it too easy," he teased. She shot him a warning look, but was amused by his friendly jibe." Oh c'mon, you walked right into that one."

"You don't know what it's like," she said, daring herself to share her deeper feelings. Marlene did it rarely, but something about Benjy Fenwick made her want to give into the desire of explaining herself, and she never felt like explaining herself. "Everyone looks at me like I'm a fucking mercenary—a coward just waiting to jump ship at the first sign of trouble. Gryffindors don't respect me, and Slytherins …Slytherins think they can crumble me up in their palm, like no matter what I say or do, they just _know_ I'm going to support their disgusting agenda..."

Suddenly, she felt overwhelmed discussing her thoughts so openly. It was an alien sensation. "…because McKinnons are always on the side of who's winning," she said flatly, her voice raw. She felt a tiny tremble in her throat, but swallowed it down, bitterly. When she continued, her tone was steady. "Merlin, I sound like such a _wanker_. Remind me never to talk about this stuff again."

Benjy allowed her a long moment of collecting silence, as if waiting for her to cry. She never did.

Changing the topic, he asked her, "Why are you here alone?"

"Silly me, I've seem to have forgotten my bodyguards back at my dorm." She looked around searchingly for effect. "Good thing there's nosy Hufflepuff lads around to provide company."

He pressed on, unfazed by her cutting sarcasm. "How about your mates?"

"We're not really like that," she stated casually. "I mean, we muck about together for a laugh, but I'd rather do my own thing without someone breathing down my neck. I'm rambling. Basically I'm rubbish at connecting with people, but I like being alone so it doesn't matter."

"You're not so bad," he offered kindly.

She shook her head. "Oh no, I'm brilliant in short bursts. It's the long term relationships I have issues with." The side of her cheeked rested in her palm and she gave him a sardonic smirk. "Just wait, by the time this conversation is over you'll be casting hexes at me."

Benjy laughed, nudging her gently with his shoulder. Sometime during their chat they'd gotten closer to one another. "You're too hard on yourself."

"If that's your opinion," she said coolly.

Marlene rummaged through her bag. The soft, caramel-toned leather satchel was dissimilar to the frayed messenger bag that hung loosely around Benjy's hip. She found the small, square package. Brandishing the carton, she wordlessly offered him a cigarette.

He turned it down politely. "Nah. I don't smoke."

Without further ado, she drew a fag from the lavender box. "You're welcome to hang around—not sure why you would—but that's not going to stop me from lighting up." Her wand set the tip in flame, and Benjy was shocked to discover she cast it without speaking a spell.

She waited an almost civil length of time for him to go his way, but the boy stood by her side, curiously. Marlene took a filling drag. When she released the toxic smoke, she blew it away from his direction. It didn't stop him from exploding into a fit of short, dry, coughs.

The witch flung her half-smoked cigarette away, hastily. "Fuck, you don't have that Muggle genetic disorder...what's it called, a plasma? No, I meant asthma. You don't have asthma, do you? That's why you don't smoke?"

Benjy's head shook from side-to-side, his body rocking in small motions. Marlene patted his back, and waited for him to cease sputtering.

When he could finally speak, he said, "No, I just like my lungs."

Marlene laughed. The sound was unfamiliar to Benjy's ears. It was candid and rowdy, with the power to echo across the distant meadow. And for a moment, her face lit up beautifully with lightheartedness and she looked her youthful age instead of wretchedly and jadedly mature.

"You'd better go, get some fresh air," she offered him through another bubble of laughter. It was her gracious request to leave, and he took it.

He nodded with agreement.

"It's been…well, it's been rather odd, hasn't it? You're a weird bloke, Fenwick."

"You're a weird bird, McKinnon," he shot back, returning her banter. "Maybe I'll see you around."

"Doubt it…but I wouldn't mind. You _are_ a bit weird, but you're a good bloke. I didn't know they existed." A cigarette found its way back into her lips, and she mumbled out of the side of her smiling mouth. "Bye, Fenwick."

"My mates call me Benjy."

"My mates call me Mars. Well, they would if I had any."

That's when they should have parted. That's when Marlene should have left it. It was her perfect social interaction: honest, offbeat, quick of wit, and _short_. It was the kind she'd always been good at. Benjy Fenwick would walk away, and she'd collect another friendship—A shallow friendship, but a _safe_ one. So why, oh why, did she continue it?

She took the unlit cigarette out of her mouth. "That's what my brother called me that when we were kids, and it sure beats Marlene."

"Which brother?" He asked conversationally. "You seem to have many."

"More like too many." She took a long pause. When she continued, she was looking at the fag and away from his eyes. "And the youngest. The youngest called me Mars."

"You close to your brother?" He added, picking up perceptively on her shifting mood.

Marlene shrugged, giving no answer. That wasn't to be discussed with him. She busied herself recollecting her fallen hair into a loose ponytail.

He sighed and scratched his neck idly. "You can't expect to make real connections with people if you always keep your guard up."

"If that's what I have to sacrifice…" She looked him deeply in the eyes. "Then so be it."

Benjy interrupted the tension with an uninvited cough that wouldn't quit.

"Are you sure you don't have asthma?" She asked, frowning. Her hands flew up to clear the air in vain. "You should have Pomfrey check you out, just in case. You know what they say: better to be safe than suffocating."

"You're nothing like I'd thought you'd be," he got out.

Marlene smirked. "Well this is who I am. Everyone wants me to be the bitch or the saint." Her hands crossed behind her head, looking skywards. "Turns out I'm neither. Disappointing stuff, that is."

"They're not the only ones at fault for that, you know."

"What are you going on about?"

"We've had enough classes together for you to make an impression… Do you want to hear it, or will you get all red in the face again?"

"I don't care what people think of me," she said shortly. "You seem to want to share, though."

"Just like you don't care about your last name and its reputation?"

"I…that's different."

"Look, you can't be both passionate _and _detached. It doesn't work that way. Makes you seem whishy-washy."

Marlene was affronted. "I'm a lot of things, but I'm not fake," she defended. "I've only ever been honest to people, but some things you can't trust with others."

There was pity in his eyes, and she hated him in that moment for it. "I'm aware. One minute you're laying all your cards on the table, and the next you're holding them to your chest. Can you blame them for misunderstanding you?"

She bit her lip painfully to stop from yelling, wanting nothing more than to spare him her wrath because he did not deserve it. He did nothing to earn unkindness, and that was what allowed her to continue. "I don't want to get hurt. I don't care how fucking pathetic that sounds. I'd rather sound like an idiot than let someone make me one."

"People aren't all bad," he told her.

"Most of them are. And even if they're not evil, they're still petty and lie too much. Everyone's out for themselves and that's the truth."

"You really believe all the stuff you say?"

"Sometimes."

He scoffed. "Do you think _I'm_ bad?"

"I don't know you."

Benjy shook his head. "You act like you've seen it all, but you know less than the people you shut out. You know what I think? I think you're a cynic. One who wants to be proven wrong so badly, it's almost desperate."

Her dormant temper flared. "Bugger off and spare yourself a lecture, 'cause I won't be listening. I don't need some random bloke to save me from my own choices."

"I thought we agreed to be mates."

The warmth in his voice almost made her want dismiss her doubts, but she knew blokes too well. "You don't want to be my mate," she said curtly. "You probably just want to get in my pants. I know I'm decent looking, but don't you think this is more effort than it's worth? Go bother someone else."

"I'm not interested in you like that," he assured her.

She blinked. A dozen responses flashed through her head, but the one that left her mouth puzzled her. "Why not?"

His lips quirked up. "You're not my type."

"Hufflepuffs have _types_? Guess you learn something new each day. I thought you lot shag everything but your mums."

"We don't shag our sisters either," he quipped. "Or our mates' sisters."

Marlene giggled. It was low and rich in tone, and it didn't last very long, but it was definitely a giggle. It made her want to drown herself in the Black Lake. "What's your type?" she asked him nonchalantly, feeling uncharacteristically embarrassed.

Benjy smiled at her knowingly, which sent a shock of irritation through her system. "My type? Well, they have to be a bloke for one—"

"Oh," she interrupted.

"Oh, indeed."

"It's not that—I'm cool with that—it's just…why are you…forget it."

"Why am I talking to you?" he spoke for her.

She beamed falsely. "Other than my charming wit, that is."

"Can't it just be because I want to get to know you better?"

"But _why_?"

Benjy was a patient boy, far more patient than most. But even he had his limits. "God, you're like a broken record! Can't you just take my word for it?!"

"Told you you'd hate me by the end of this," said Marlene slyly, inspecting her polished nails as a diversion. "Don't let the leaves hit you on the way out."

"Shut up." His forcefulness called her full attention. "I'm talking to you because you're an interesting person. I'm _talking to you _because when you drop the cold 'I'm a loner, nobody understands me' act, you're actually warm and considerate."

Her eyebrow arched. "Considerate? That's a new one."

"Fine," he said, standing up. "You don't have to listen to me, but I have to say this: It must be exhausting trying to front as someone you're not. And it won't last, trust me. When it falls apart, you'll be fucking _terrified_, but you'll be better for it because the person you've chained up inside wants to be free."

Marlene rose to her full height, her fists clenched in tight balls by her side. "Stop. Fucking _stop_. Stop talking like you know me when we've only spoken once. You're not insightful; you just talk a lot of bullshit, and you're _not_ my friend. So don't pretend to give a damn."

"Cheers, Mars."

He hoisted his school bag around his shoulder and passed through the curtain of leaves. His shadow faded in the distance, and Marlene was alone, just as she always wanted. She didn't know why there was an urge to shout for him, or why it was difficult to crush.

But she didn't call out to Benjy, instead whispering, "Self-righteous git."


End file.
